


I don't recognize this street...

by KeepGoing



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Future Fic, Ian lives on his own, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Mickey gets out of prison, Mickey's grown up, These two idiots belong together, Unresolved Feelings, ian's better, old habits die hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:36:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8281232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeepGoing/pseuds/KeepGoing
Summary: Somehow Mickey knew no matter how much the neighborhood could and would eventually change, he knew this house would always be cemented in all its white trash glory. Like a force to be reckoned with. When the world ends, this house would be the only one left standing and people would tell stories of the family that lived there. 


  And Mickey would be one of those people. 

Mickey is released from prison after 8 years and the first place he goes is the Gallagher house.





	

****

Clinging to me  
Like a last breath you would breathe  
You were like home to me  
I don't recognize the street

_His head is heavy against your shoulder. You glance down at his sleeping face; the red of his eyelashes, the curve of his upper lip. He’s breathing. He’s alive. It's all you can ask for in this moment. He’s beautifully damaged and you wonder if you love him more now because you realize he isn't as perfect as you made him out to be. He needs you, for once, instead of you silently needing him all that time. You make promises to him inside your head, inside this car as his brother drives, your eyes meeting in the rearview mirror and he hears your promises too._

_But you realize, not much later, that promises mean shit because if someone doesn't want to be with you, you can't make em._  
  


Time is a bitch. 

And as much of a bitch time has been to Mickey, he’s more of its bitch than anything else. 

Because time was all he had for 8 years. Time to miss. Time to ache. Time to think. Time to wallow in his mistakes. Time to learn. To grow. As gay ass as all that sounds. But truth is the truth and if prison has taught him fucking anything it's that the truth is all he has. 

And truth is 8 years is a long fucking time. 

Nothing looks the same. Somehow the south side isn't as ‘south side’ as it used to be with little fucking cafes and a Starbucks on every corner, but the Alibi is still standing and as much as he craves a beer he wonders who could be in there at this moment and none of that is shit he wants to deal with. At least not right now. Cause bottom line is he doesn't have a home anymore. His probation officer said ‘You’re going home’ and it felt like some sort of cruel joke. 

So he goes to the only home he knows right now. A place he knows he isn't welcome, but fuck, where was he every really welcome? Nowhere.  
  


****

I used to run down the stairs  
To the door and I thought you were there  
Do you shape through the comfort of us  
Two lovers loved out of love  
But there is trouble ahead, I can feel it

_Your chest aches. You honestly feel like you can't breath. You’ve had the shit beat out of you so many times; cracked ribs, bruised lungs, broken bones; but this feeling, this pain...you aren't sure how people survive this. Cause you know you won’t._

_He’s made his decision. You can see the distant in his eyes. You had seen it for weeks now, but you ignored it, like everything else. You knew you could make him love you, need you, like he used to. Like you love and need him now. He made you brave. He made you feel. He gave you the one thing you’d never really had before. A sense of home. He was your home._

_You just weren't his._

_He was letting go. And you had no choice but to let go too._  
  


Somehow Mickey knew no matter how much the neighbourhood could and would eventually change, he knew this house would always be cemented in all its white trash glory. Like a force to be reckoned with. When the world ends, this house would be the only one left standing and people would tell stories of the family that lived there. 

And Mickey would be one of those people. 

A red haired little girl answers the door, freckles across her cheeks and it's like he’s thrown back in time and he remembers that feeling of not being able to breathE like 8 years ago when his world ended. She calls for her mother and when Debbie stares back at Mickey, a look of shock and amusement, he realizes how much has changed. And how much is still so much the fucking same. 

Mickey realizes how much Debbie looks like Ian, how much she looks like how he remembers Ian. Red, with that smirk and twinkle in his eye. That look of utter disinterest. She sighs heavily and keeps her and wrapped around the door jamb. She looks Mickey straight in the eye and he realizes how much he's missed that. Connection. To anyone.

"He doesn't live here. He's got a place over in Boys Town. By the EMS station. Where he works. As an EMT." Debbie says every word carefully and slowly as if Mickey is that same dumbass fucking hoodlum he was all those years ago and Mickey guesses old habits die hard because here he is showing up 8 years later out of jail, how the fuck is she to know he isn't the same fucking white trash piece of shit he always was.

Mickey mumbles a thanks and the door is closed in his face. He doesn't think Debbie is being rude, it's just who she is. Who she always was. She doesn't owe Mickey anything, she never owed anyone anything from her family or extended, if Mickey can even call himself that. He has no right. A red haired boy took that right away a long time ago.  
  


****

I know it wasn't always wrong  
But I've never known a winter so cold  
No, I don't warm my hands in your coat  
But I still hope

_The letter you're writing is gay as fuck and you might as well be scribbling in pink crayon with hearts all over the page 'I'm your bitch' because the page is filled with words like 'miss' and 'need' and 'please' and it makes you sick to your stomach with every new word you write. You tell him how much you miss him and how the memories of his hands and his lips and breath on your neck keep you alive in here and you do what you need to in order to survive, but no skin you touch is as soft as his and you hope that the day you see him again it will be like no time has passed at all and you can put all this bullshit behind the two of you and start over._

_The crumpled up paper lands perfectly in the makeshift garbage can you've made for all the letters you don't send._  
  


8 years ago Mickey never would have voluntarily come to this side of town. He had a few times toward the end to find Ian, to bring Ian back. To take back what was HIS and HIS alone.

This isn't like those times. Mickey doesn't give a shit anymore about labels and what people think or about his abusive drunk father. Truth is he died in jail a few years into Mickey's sentence and Mickey's fine with the fact he didn't get to say goodbye. Most days. Truth is Mickey knows where he came from. He isn't under some delusion that he hasn't just been released from prison and that he's always been doomed to end up just like his father. It's the reason he and Ian fit together so well all those years ago. Kids from the wrong side of town given a shitty hand in life and determined not to end up like their parents.

And from what Mickey hears, Ian hasn't. And he's glad. He just wishes he had been there to see it. 

Mickey isn't sure what he expected to find when he gets into the neighbourhood. When he gets in front of the EMS station. And he honestly didn't expect to find Ian leaning against the outside, cigarette in hand, playing his a fancy phone that Mickey's heard all about. Ian looks up and their eyes catch and Mickey regrets everything for a few seconds until Ian smiles.

Then his world falls into place. In a mere second.

"You're out."

Mickey nods, squinting into the winter sun reflecting off the dirty snow piles surrounding the EMS station. "Told you 8 years."

"Went by the house?"

"Yeah, your sister told me where you were." Mickey rubs his cold fingers along his chin. "Heard from Mandy?"

Ian nods, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "Saw her when your house was foreclosed on," Ian smirks. "Gay couple lives there now. Ironic, huh?"

Mickey feels himself smile and it almost hurts. It's been a long time since he has.

"8 years is a long fucking time, Mick."

"Tell me about it." Mickey pauses taking in Ian's features. He had almost forgotten how beautiful he was...fuck, who was he kidding? No, he hadn't. "Just wanted to see what you were up to. I gotta find a place to live, a job. You know, be a productive member of society."

"You're different." Ian blurts out and pushes off the bricks with the heel of his boot. Mickey shrugs.

"Guess. So are you. So are we all. Time and shit. Changes us." Mickey lights a cigarette and looks down the street. "I guess I'll see you around or some shit."

"Where are you gonna go, Mick?" Ian's voice changes; that softness in his voice bringing back memories like the fucking L barreling into Mickey's skin. He just shrugs.

"I don't know. Anywhere. Everywhere. I'll figure it out. I always do."

"Do you remember what you asked me? The last time I saw you. The last time I came to see you?" Ian steps closer, the snow under his boots sloshing as he gets closer to Mickey and neither of them can breathe.

Mickey nods. "I kinda relive that moment a lot. Asking you to fucking wait for me? It was bullshit, Gallagher. Fuckin' gay ass shit that I never shoulda fuckin' said."

"No, it wasn't." Ian Gallagher, ever the romantic. Some things never change. "Cause I did. At least I think I did. In my own way." Mickey can smell him now; the cigarettes on his breath mixed with mint gum. Detergent. Chicago winter air. "Come stay with me."

Mickey laughs, rubbing his knuckles over his mouth and looking everywhere but at Ian. "You're fuckin' kidding me, right? I don't need your charity, tough guy."

"It's not charity. It's just...an old friend helping another friend out."

"That what we are? Huh? Old friends?" Mickey flicks his cigarette out into the unknown. "You've had your dick in my ass, Gallagher. Think it's a bit more complicated than that."

It's Ian's turn to laugh. "Guess you're right." He smiles. "So?"

"So? What, we gonna build a blanket fort and do each other's hair?" Mickey spits out.

"Sure. Why not?" Ian smiles brighter. Mickey sighs but can't help but smirk.

"That easy, huh?"

"Why not? It's us, Mick. Aren't you tired of complicated? Cause I sure as fuck am."

"We've always been complicated." Mickey mumbles.

"Yeah, but we aren't kids anymore. We aren't those same hoodrat kids. I got out, and you can too." Ian reaches out to brush his hand against Mickey's cheek but Mickey ducks away, quickly, eyes narrowed.

"You don't know shit about me, Gallagher. You think because you got some fancy job and got out of the south side and moved into gay town that you just expect me to do the same? I'm not like you. I never was. You had dreams and shit. That's not who I am. I just got out of jail. Fucking jail. There is no fuckin' saving me. I always had nothin'. And I always will."

"Not true. You had me. And you still do." Ian grabs his wrist and pulls Mickey flush against his body. "I was sick, Mick. I pushed you away to save you, somehow in my own fucked up mind. Didn't want to drag you down with me. But I'm an idiot, okay. And I don't care if you just got out of prison. I never cared about any of that shit. It's probably why I loved you so fucking much. So just stop being so damn difficult and just stay with me. We see how it goes. Let's stop making everything so fucking difficult. Because I feel like the only thing I ever had in my life that wasn't, was you."

"You're such a fuckin' girl, you know that?" Mickey finally looks into Ian's eyes and fuck he missed this.

"It's why you love me." Ian whispers.

Mickey snorts. "Yeah, whatever, tough guy."

"8 fucking years, Mick, and you still can't admit it."

"Hey, I fuckin' admitted it tons of times. You just weren't listening."

"I'm listening now." Ian whispers. Mickey's eyes dart around. People hustle by. No one even notices them and it reminds Mickey of that night in the club all those fucking years ago when Mickey's fears try to take control then too. What the fuck does any of this matter anymore? 8 years is a fucking long time. And he just doesn't give a shit anymore.

Mickey wraps his cold fingers around Ian's red flushed cheeks and kisses him with 8 years of regret and loneliness and love that he'd kept inside a 6 by 8 cell. Ian returns the emotions and fuck Mickey thinks Ian could be fucking with him, all this could be some kind of game and Mickey should probably be running as far away from this kid...no man...as fast as he can, but he just can't. Cause he's Ian Gallagher's bitch and fuck if he isn't proud to be for the first time ever.  
  


****

Cause this is how things ought to have been  
And I know the words are there  
Wasn't all that it seemed  
Why can't I dream?  
Cause I know you care  
I know it's always been there

_You run your fingertips gentle across his pale forehead and in your head you count the freckles across his cheeks and bare chest just in case this is the last time you see them._

_You'd been out of jail exactly 24 hours and fuck if they weren't the best of your entire life._

_He stirs next to you and his lashes blink over bright eyes and a smile curls over perfect lips._

_"Why aren't you sleeping?"_

_You shrug and let your hand fall onto his stomach next to the bunched up blanket at his navel. You've already touched him for hours; remapping every inch of his body that you had forgotten. He had been inside you, 3 times already, and you know somehow, there will never be enough times. You don't want to get too comfortable, too attached, because you have no idea what is going to happen and if you allow yourself to feel too much you'll end up right back where you were with a broken heart and no place to go._

_"Come on, sleep. Then we will get some food. I'm off today, so we will get you settled. Get you some clothes and try and find you a job." He nuzzles sleepily into your shoulder and you can't help but close your eyes._

_"Why you doin' this?" You ask._

_"Cause I love you." He answers, never skipping a beat._

_Unlike your heart at the words._  
  


"Holy shit, you're actually cooking?"

"Fuck you." Mickey flips his boyfriend off as he drops his wallet and keys on the table in their kitchen.

"Now, now, babe, you know you're the bottom in this relationship." Ian leans in, planting a wet kiss on Mickey's cheek. He's pushed off, hard in the arm by  
Mickey's shoulder.

"Why you gotta make everything so gay?' Mickey mumbles, stirring the pasta.

"Because it makes you uncomfortable." Ian picks at the salad on the counter, popping a carrot in his mouth. "How was work?"

"Some of these assholes man. I mean I get we are moving their shit around but they don't have to be such fucking idiots about it." Mickey drops the strainer in the sink. "Makes me wish I was still stealing their shit like old times."

Ian laughs and plops down onto one of the kitchen chairs. "Try saving people's lives. Fucking ungrateful shits."

"We become decent people and just get shit on for it. Sometimes I think it ain't worth it." Mickey sets a plate of food in front of his boyfriend. "If it makes you sick it ain't my fault. I tried."

"It's great, Mick. Really. Thank you." Ian pulls Mickey down by his tie, which he is still wearing from work and it's driving him crazy and kisses him hard on the mouth.

"Okay, okay." Mickey stands, straightening his shirt and begins to make his own plate. As he smiles.

He doesn't know why he still gives Ian shit all the time with all the couples gay shit when in truth it's the happiest he's been in...well ever. But he wouldn't be himself if he didn't, and Ian wouldn't love him if he didn't either. It's who they are. Who they are together and apart. Ian still has his...demons. There are days where Mickey sees getting out of bed is harder than the day before, but he does it.

And Mickey doesn't give him any shit on the days he doesn't.

Ian can tell when Mickey is getting restless and how sometimes he can feel the itch under his skin to revert back to his old ways. But he doesn't. Ian is always there to catch him right before he falls.

It's not perfect. It never was with them. They still fight and beat the shit out of each other until they are spitting blood onto the floor of their apartment. They can move out of the south side, but you can't get the south side of them.

Sometimes they go to the Alibi, for old times sake. See Kev and V. Have a drink with Ian's brothers and sisters when they are either in town or not working. No one seems surprised to see Mickey the first time they go there. They just pat him on the back and say welcome home because Ian is smiling and to the Gallaghers, that's all that ever really mattered. Mickey gets that now.

When Lip pulls him aside one night after a few too many beers, he thanks, Mickey. He never says what for, but Mickey doesn't think it really matters anyway.

Mickey is Ian's date to Carl's wedding.

And he holds Ian's hand when Frank finally after so many failed attempts, kicks the bucket in the old Gallagher kitchen and it feels so different yet so familiar all in one squeeze.

Who knows if they will be together in another 8 years. Mickey doesn't honestly like to think about that kind of shit anymore.

Mickey never loved easily. But he finds loving Ian is the easiest thing he's ever done.


End file.
